


The Fire

by SepiaWhiskey



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Jealousy, Negan (Walking Dead) Being an Asshole, Negan (Walking Dead) Swears, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Negan (Walking Dead), Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, jealousy is a bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 15:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10414836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SepiaWhiskey/pseuds/SepiaWhiskey
Summary: You're Negan's. And sometimes he has to assert that.Request at my Tumblr: [ Sepia-Whiskey ]





	

The Sanctuary never stopped.

 

A member ( indentured or otherwise ) of the Savior's could accede to this simple fact, making clear that while in some rare days, things would slow significantly in contrast to the normal rush of this, but it, indeed, did not _ever_ cease. There was always runs to be made, power to assert elsewhere, irons to be heated, and similar acts of order and authority - headed by the bat wielding bastard himself.

 

Though to be fair, he was _your_ bat wielding bastard so you could verbalize that.

 

You were _not_ one of his wives. Repeat: _NOT_. You had asserted that early on to him, much to his libido driven dismay, but to say that there was not a mutual attraction and frequent visitation to either one’s quarters was a bold faced lie that you had no intention of indulging in. Because you had a role within the Sanctuary, you did not speak to any of his wives… _at all._ As far as you were concerned, they were screwing themselves into safety - and you had said that within proximity of one of them, instigating an immediate distaste between you and them. Sherry, herself, seemed dissatisfied that you _genuinely_ seemed interested in Negan and all that he was about.

 

But shit, you got turned on by power. And Negan seemed to ooze it.

 

You, personally, aided in weaponry stock and maintenance for the outgoing teams and the Sanctuary in a whole. What that meant, dimmed down to its honest description, was that you frequently took count of the armory and kept them stocked and loaded, replenishing the firearms of returning teams. The latter was only as consistent as the bound groups outside the Sanctuary were willing to rebel or fail to keep up with tribute. Needless to say? You didn't replenish much, but when you did, there was always a story around dinner time - inevitably embellished by one of the lieutenants that led the run.

 

Two things had occurred as recently as a few weeks ago. One, you were offered the opportunity to extend your personal list of wants out for those on runs. It had been sprung out of nowhere amidst your time in bed together and you took advantage, quietly asking around for other individuals what they might've wanted. The second thing came as aids. You were given a man and his son to, essentially, become your aids. Why Negan felt you required aids for a simplistic task of _counting_ and _filling up guns_ was beyond you, up until you are told that the man is former military. You knew the basics. He knew advances. The boy kept to himself and more often than you cared to admit, you forgot his name.

 

The father, Franklin, seemed easy enough. He set his son with basic tasks of keeping the room clean, checking and marking empty cartridges, the simple stuff. Franklin himself was a prominent presence in helping you stock up that trucks and unloading. An extra set of hands had been quite helpful to you, giving you little reason to dislike the two individuals on Franklin's work ethic and sparing of his son alone. Over time, Franklin also makes it quite clear that he had something for you. Warm smiles that extended to no one else (though you were primarily the only person he spoke to, plainly), longer gazes, a constant rush to aid you in lifting and anything physical. He hadn't been around long enough to catch on to Negan’s attachment with you. You did not lead him on but entertained his bashful state of being around you, somewhat pleased that there were still good people like him out there. And, bashful yourself, Franklin was not hard on the eyes. His military background gave him something of a good hand in addressing you respectfully, taking your boundaries into consideration even in times of mild, flirtatious conversations.

 

You had had to say something when he catches you off guard, trapping you between his arms whilst pulling you into an admittedly ardent kiss that you regretfully linger into. Even daring to permit his hands to your hips and one of your hands grazing his cheek before pushing him off, touching your lips.

 

Immediately, instincts demand that you check the two widows of the room, cautious that no one had seen this before pivoting sharply to the already pale looking Franklin, “I'm sorry if I -”

 

“ _Franklin_ ,” you assert, hand up with a single hand on hip. You ponder how you can express your attachment. He immediately senses the discomfort and exhaled harshly, hands up, “I -I'm really sorry. Shit. Seriously. I wasn't trying to get in your pants or anything...”

 

“No, I know, but listen. Ugh. It's not - you're fine, honestly. And maybe if we had met before I got here, I would've...and honestly I would've…”

 

And you _would have._

 

“But…?”

 

“But...I...uhh. Look.” You drive a hand into the depth of your pockets and extract a stone pendant from your pocket. It is scratched and slightly dusty from finding it within a house. You let the chain dip in between your fingers before grasping it and showing it to him, “Do you know who gave this to me? And I'm - I'm not doing this to be a bitch, but I need to make a point.”

 

He blinks and sighs, “You're married. Dating..."

 

“Negan gave this to me.”

 

No more than a few seconds of comprehension and he literally must steady himself. He had seen the iron. Seen the punishments. Was unfamiliar with the embellishments of the stories and so immediately took to believing. There was one person you needed to avoid within the Sanctuary, and he had just kissed that man's woman. A woman he favored above the unavailing title of “wife.”

 

“I'm only telling you this because if he _ever_ saw that, I'm nervous that it's not _you_ he would go after…” his mind clearly goes to his son who sits leaned to the wall within the far back of the room, napping. He nods and runs his hands over his hair, looking at his son, “He's a monster…” he breathes, looking at you, “You deserve much better than that. Why would you -?”

 

Open opinions are shut away as the door of the armory pries open and the slow saunter of boots, a gloved hand extending to keep the door open. You sigh, turning to the door before you quickly nod for Franklin to kneel, stuffing the penchant in your pocket, “I thought this was where I could get away? No psycho assholes allowed."

 

Franklin makes a face of horror, kneeling down. What he doesn't see, is a blazing smirk and grin of Negan when he enters, Lucille balanced over his shoulder. His saunter is followed by the arrival of five more Saviors, Arat being the clear lieutenant he is deciding to bring. You extend a hand to her with a brief dap and she barks for a quick recruitment of weaponry to the others, leaving you to keep your gaze over Negan’s.

 

His tongue extends, running over the bottom of his top row of teeth, finger hooking the waistband of your pants, pulling you against him, “Typically. But it's a bit of an exception when we're in need of your services, doll.” You nod, smirking as you run your fingers up his arm. He makes a sound and tilts your chin up, fingers cautiously clutching your chin before catching you in a fervent kiss. It is slow, deliberate, and you swear you see him glance over at Franklin as though asserting something before pulling away.

 

“Franklin, right?”

 

You turn to match his gaze and find a still knelt Franklin. Lines of indentation furrowing his forehead in discomfort. He looks up, successfully keeping a base in his voice, “Yes, sir.”

 

“Huh. How you managing? She causing you any trouble? I like to check up on my people. I'm real _amicable_ like that.” Negan releases your waist as you extend yourself to the men, offering up better artillery, though you don't hesitate to watch behind you carefully.

 

He beckons him to stand, much to Franklin's astonishment.

 

He stands at Negan's height, glancing at you before scratching the back of his neck, “Alright. She's helping me out with the system you guys have going here and everything so...yeah."

 

There is no denying the skeptical glare that he offers a Franklin as he nods, fingers wrapped tightly around Lucille, “Business talk aside? Fine little thing, ain't she? And. That. Ass.” He points towards your occupied figure with Lucille, running the details of a 9mm with one of the men. A rush of anger runs over Franklin and he looks down briefly, glancing back at the table where he stood prior, “I wouldn't know. I don't really look at her that way.”

 

“Well, that's good!” Negan grins, arm extending over the man's shoulders. Franklin stiffens all at once. Negan keeps his gaze on you and moves to the man's ear, “Damn good fucking thing you don't look at her...outside, when you're speaking, loading up the trucks, at dinner…” Franklin tenses, remembering all these instances in which he let his...well, _lust_ get the better of himself. He would watch you laugh. Watch you speak. An embarrassing moment in which you had leaned your body to the very table where he stood now, your rear set out for him to childishly admire.

 

Had Negan seen himself? Had someone reported it?

 

“Because if you _were_ looking at her. And I mean _really_ fucking looking at her the way I love to do? Which I know you're not!” His hand tightly grips the man's nape and the base of his voice hypes to a vicious growl, “Any bastard who was looking at my woman that way would have his face slammed down into the fire until I thought his eyes had melted. Just to make sure he can't look at her like that again. And it might be a _very_ long time before I fucking thought that. But you don't see her that way, so I wouldn't worry.”

 

He pats the man's back and strides to you, taking your personal list of wants. Franklin winces at the sight of your shared kiss, the men and women with him retreating back up the stairs. Negan mutters something that sends a wicked smirk on your lips, fingers brushing his arm before he winks, taking Lucille up the steps with him. He stops, pointing at Franklin with a cocked eyebrow. Franklin only nods, the admonition taken more than seriously.

  
“The fire is always burning, Frank,” he puts darkly in a strange pairing with a smirk, the meaning lost to you but deathly certain to Franklin, 

_"Always.”_


End file.
